Same Old Story
by Dustland-Fairytales
Summary: Death isn't what it used to be. Neither are Dean's feeling about this. Spoilers up to 7x02


_****_**Title: **Same old story

**Summary: **Death isn't what it used to be. Neither are Dean's feeling about this.

**Spoilers: **Up to 7x02, I suppose.

**Disclaimer: **These wonderful boys belong to Eric Kripke. What a shame.

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><p><em><strong>Same old story<strong>_

_**.**_

When Dean sees Castiel standing next to the Impala, stiff and with his shoulders a little hunched, looking awkward as ever, he is completely sure this is a hallucination.

He's not dreaming, that's for sure, because he was wide awake only a few minutes ago when he was drinking his coffee and telling Sam and Bobby to gather everything they need for the next job, and through the entire shitty morning that he could not have dreamed up to be so bad, and there is no way he could have fallen asleep on his way out. It's not that he doesn't dream of Cas – of course he does, his dreams are filled with him, have been ever since he dragged him out of hell – but this is different.

You see, Dean has loved the dreams and he has hated them more than anything. He has anticipated them and he has feared them at the same time, and they have been ripping him apart. He misses Castiel more than anything, and when he dreams of him – they always end up sitting on a bench together, at the lake where Castiel died, mostly not even talking, but Cas is there and that's all that matters - he feels whole again. The huge, gaping hole in his chest is reduces to a minimal, dull, throbbing voice in the back of his said telling him that this is not real, that once he wakes up he will only feel a little emptier inside, and every fibre of his body will hurt so much that he hardly knows how to get up in the morning.

Every dream makes it better, and it makes it worse; as much as Dean wishes to stay in these dreams, he knows that he cannot do this, ever, and when he wakes up, the wound that Cas's death caused will be as if it was freshly ripped open, as if it hadn't healed at all (because it hasn't, not in all the months that have passed).

There is something different this time, though. (Mostly, the fact that Castiel isn't wearing his trench coat. Dean has absolutely no idea why he wouldn't wear it in his hallucinations – he does it in his dreams, too, after all – but maybe that just means that he is finally losing his mind). Maybe it's the lack of peacefulness in the scenery. Whatever it is, Dean can't deal with it right now. He cannot take the pain that seeing his friend causes, and he certainly won't be able to deal with the pain that will come when he disappears from his sight.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says softly. His voice sounds slightly different from what it's like in Dean's dreams. Not much, but it's there. A little more tired, a little more broken.

"Cas," Dean replies, his own voice rough, and clears his throat.

The angel blinks. "You seem... unsurprised."

Dean frowns. "Why would I be surprised?" And indeed, why would he be? Even after dying, Cas has been with him every second, every day, in his heart and in his thoughts, and Dean has been praying for him to go away as much as he has been begging to never forget.

That is the exact moment when Sam walks round the corner, shrieks "Holy _Shit!"_ in a voice nearly two octaves higher than usual and drops all the guns and rifles he was holding. A few seconds later, he catches Castiel in a bone-crushing hug, to which the angel responds in his usual Cas manner – standing there awkwardly and waiting for it to be over. Dean watches them with raised eyebrows. Now _this_ is weird. If this is his hallucination, why can Sam see him?

Maybe he did fall asleep after all. But why would Sam show up in his dream?

Finally, Sam steps back and stares at Castiel, shaking his head. "How?"

Castiel shrugs. "I'm not sure."

Bobby, upon hearing the noise Sam made, sticks his head out of the door and blanches visibly. He, like Sam, let's out a colourful curse. "You lot always come back, don't you?" he asks and grins wryly. "Death really isn't what it used to be."

Castiel almost smiles. "It's nice to see you, too, Bobby."

"Seriously, though, what the hell, man?" Sam interjects. "We thought that this time...well."

"Dean doesn't seem to be surprised," the angel points out, again.

Sam takes a look at him and frowns. "Are you alright, Dean?"

That's when Dean starts to feel a little dizzy. This is wrong, this is all wrong. Nothing fits here, nothing makes sense. He pinches himself in the arm. It hurts. No dream, then, just like he suspected. But if it's a hallucination, why can they all see him? How can Cas be solid enough for Sam to hug him? Are hallucinations even solid? Dean can't remember anymore; he's frozen in place, and all he can do is look back and forth between Sam and Castiel as if he'd just been struck by lightning.

Sammy raises his eyebrows, and then understanding dawns on his face. "Oh, I see." He nods, and just when Dean thinks that maybe things will fall back into place now, because Sam will surely see that something is off, the sasquatch takes a step forward and slaps Dean over the back of the head, hard.

"Ow!" Dean hollers and glared at his brother, because it hurts and because he fucking did not expect that. "What the hell, dude?"

"You're awake," Sam states almost cheerily.

"Yeah, thanks, I know that," Dean snaps back.

"Didn't look like it." Sam shrugged and grins. "And it helped to snap you out of your frozen state. Seriously, man, you looked as if you were seeing a ghost."

Dean glares at him, because, yeah, so not funny. The little bitch isn't affected in the slightest, just turns back to Castiel – who is _still_ standing there, Goddammit, what is this fuckery? – with a little more sober expression and asks, "You're okay, right?"

What he means, clearly, is: _I don't need to run all the tests on you, right? No Leviathans in you anymore? No ghost, no demon, just Cas?_ Even Castiel gets that. He nods and says, "Yes. There are no precautions necessary, but if you want to reassure yourself –"

"No, no, man, it's totally fine," Sam interrupts., but Castiel still produces a knife from somewhere, roll's up the sleeves of his shirt and cuts the pale skin of his forearm, drawing blood. Real, red blood, not the black ooze that the Leviathans lose. There is a strangled sound, and Dean only realises it came from his mouth when both Cas and Sam look at him with concern in their eyes.

"Um, I'll...go back inside and help Bobby pack. You two sort this out."

And then the bastard takes off and leaves Dean alone maybe-hallucination-or-maybe-real-Castiel who still looks at him like he's worrying about his sanity, as if Dean wasn't doing that himself already. "Dean," Castiel begins awkwardly, but Dean holds up a hand to stop him.

"Don't," he rasps. "Just...don't. Give me a second."

"Of course."

Stupid damn angel, always too willing to do anything Dean asks, except for this one time...He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. A part of him – a huge part of him, actually, _every_ part aside from that little, utterly paranoid corner in the back of his brain – wants nothing more than to believe it, but the thing is, Dean is a hunter and the only reason he is still alive is because he usually listens to, yes, you guessed right, the little, utterly paranoid part of his brain. He understands why Sam is so willing to accept the fact that Castiel is standing in front of them, in the flesh, alive and unharmed, and at the same time, he doesn't, because his mind tells him that this is not possible.

Then again, this is _Cas _they are talking about, and it's not like the little fucker hadn't pulled that stunt on them twice before. Hell, even Dean himself has been dead so many times before he has lost count. Bobby is right, death is not what it used to be.

Shit.

Dean opens his eyes again, and Castiel is still there, waiting patiently for him to finally get a grip. "So, you, uhm..." Dean wiggles his hand weakly to make up for everything he can't put into words, which is a whole lot of things, but Castiel gets the hang of it.

"Yes."

"What, the big man upstairs decided to stitch you up yet again?"

Cas looks a little distressed at the mention of God. Serves him right. "I can only assume that. No one else would have the power to restore my vessel and return my angelic powers to me."

"And now you've been sent out to correct your mistakes and wipe the slimy beasts off the map?" _And you want to ask for my help,_ Dean adds silently, the only logical conclusion his mind can come up with at the moment.

"Not exactly, no."

Dean swallows, hard. "Why are you here, Cas?" he asks.

He is not prepared for Cas's sharp intake of breath, for the hurt in his voice. "If you don't want me here I-"

"No! No, no, no, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Well," Dean shrugs, and tries his best to look indifferent. He's good at that. "You are alive again. Angel with full access to heaven and everything, right? Aren't you, I don't know, supposed to follow Heaven's orders again, or something? Play babysitter for your dick brothers?"

A small frown appears on Castiel's forehead. "I wanted to see you."

"Why?" Dean asks. "Why me?"

Castiel looks directly at him, with his brilliant bright blue eyes that seem to look right into his soul. "All of the things I have done," he says, "and you still have to ask?"

Dean looks at the ground before his shoes, because he cannot bear to look at Cas. "How long will you stay?" He needs to no. Just so he can brace himself. Be prepared.

"Prepared for what?" Castiel asks, confused, and only then does Dean notice that he has said these words out loud. For a second, he panics inwardly, because no one was ever supposed to hear that, and he doesn't even know whether he can admit it to himself, but there is no going back now. Maybe there never has been.

"For when you leave again." His voice is rough on the edges, like sand paper. Suddenly he's not sure whether he wants to hear the answer anymore.

The angels blinks, then sighs and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "idjit". The guy has definitely has definitely been spending too much time around Bobby, Dean decides. Grumpy bastards. "What?"

Castiel opens his mouth as if to say something, but hesitates. He looks away and mumbles, "although I have no specific order to take care of the Leviathans, I will not leave until we have defeated them."

He doesn't say _because it's my fault they are here in the first play_, because he doesn't need to. It's a reasonable answer, but not the one Dean would have liked to hear. And from his expression he can tell the angel isn't telling the whole truth. He really isn't that good a liar. "So you plan to give them a good beat up and then get your feathery ass back up to heaven?" he prods, because fuck it all, the subtlety ship has long since sailed and if he doesn't find out the truth now it might kill him. He's already lost Castiel thrice; he could manage another time if he had to.

Castiel smiles weakly. "I don't know. You tell me."

Three words, but what he says is so much more. _If you want me to go, I'll leave. If you want me to stay, I will stay. It's up to you Dean Winchester. You decide which road we will take. I have given everything for you. Now you must decide what you are willing to give to me. _

Dean smiles. "Come on. I've got something for you. You look completely lost without that ugly trench coat."

They still have a lot of questions to answer. They have to work a lot of things out. Dean still has to give Cas a good kick in the ass for all the idiotic shit he did. They have to save the world (again).

But for now, they can start with little things.

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><p><strong>AN.:** Oh look, I took a detour to the Supernatural fandom. Since this is my first Destiel fic, I'm not that happy with it, but...well, considering my latest obsession with these boys there will most likely be more of this, and that means I get practice, and I'll get , reviews?

Dftba,

Dustland-Fairytales


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